You're Gonna Go Far, Kid
by Fantasia-the-Crazy
Summary: Quaxo is the single son of Macavity. When he learns of his father's intentions to raise him as another minion, he flees to find his mother. But Macavity wants him back.


Darkness hung in the air like an ominous, threatening aura. The Jellicle Moon was not present on that night, setting a forbidding mood for the black and golden queen who wandered through it. This queen was Demeter. Her belly was heavy with the weight of her unborn kitten as she stalked grudgingly along in the dense woodland, quite different from the junkyard that was her home. She doubted the Jellicle Moon shone here anyway, even when it was out; for the cat she was going to meet had no sentiment in his heart at all, as if he had never seen the light of the sun or moon. Instead, his heart was as black as the raven circling overhead. The raven, the harbinger of evil, the omen of the bad times to come, that slowly and silently glided in the sky. It alighted on a tree branch and looked down, seeming to regard Demeter with hatred scouring in its beady eyes. Ignoring it, she pressed forward. Though this was the last place she wanted to be, she knew she must keep going, or else suffer the consequences. She was going to see Macavity: the evil, dark-hearted cat, the fiend in feline shape, the monster of depravity . . . and the father of her kitten.

A very long time ago, back in their own days of kittenhood, Macavity had lived with the Jellicle tribe, before he had turned evil. And he was rather a handsome young tom at that. He had proven himself to be quite irresistible to Demeter, winning her affection easily. Ah! The impudence of youth. Munkustrap, the silver tabby who was her current mate, had sensed darkness in Macavity's heart and urged Demeter not to fall in love with him. But the young lovestruck queen paid no heed to his warnings and remained enraptured by the little ginger cat. Macavity had never forgotten this. After he had turned evil – it still pained her to think about how it had happened – he would constantly show up and scare the tribe, and every time it was Demeter who sensed his presence before everyone else, a cruel aftereffect of her childish love. Then, one night without warning, he had kidnapped her, taken her back to his lair, and raped her. Just before releasing her, he had told her, "Now listen up. There shall be born to you a single kitten. You are to come back here when it's due, deliver the kitten, and give it to me. If you do not obey, I will hunt you down and kill you and all of those bloody Jellicles. Now go." And that was the last anyone had seen of him since.

Up ahead, there was an enormous tree with a big hollow area at the base of its trunk. A horrible, acrid scent reached Demeter's nose, and she could see, through the darkness, the silhouette of a cat. A tall, thin, ginger cat with a wild, unkempt mane and hopelessly matted fur. Macavity.

"Demeter." His voice was a low, gravelly drawl. He looked her up and down, a gleam of satisfaction in his brown eyes. "Just in time, I suspect. Come in." He led her down into the hollow, where the stench became almost overpowering.

Demeter slowly laid down, her glaring, ice-blue eyes never leaving him. Beneath all of that evil and malevolence, there was that same handsome young cat. For a heartbeat, Demeter almost felt like asking herself: _What happened?_ But a sudden sharp pain brought her back to reality. Her labor was beginning. She cringed, then said bitterly, "But just remember that I have the satisfaction of knowing that once this is all over, I can go back to a place where I know other cats care about me."

"That may be true," Macavity responded passively, "but I'll have the kitten."

Another grimace, and then: "And it will find out the truth about you, the horrible, horrible truth. And you will be left with no one, again."

But Macavity ignored her, and merely stepped back to watch the show.

It was a very long (and twice as painful) labor. By the time it was over, bright sunlight was coming through the hollow of the tree, illuminating the image of Demeter with her tail curled around a single, tiny kitten. The smell of blood mingled with the smell of Macavity, producing a new, stifling odor, but after something so painful as that, she didn't mind it as much. She gently rasped her tongue over the kitten. It was completely black, save for a white face and chest, and its eyes were tightly closed. Once she was sure its blood was circulating and it was breathing properly, she delicately lifted up its tiny tail. It was a tom. For a moment, Demeter felt a surge of pride. She was a mother! As she looked down upon the kitten, this miracle of life, the little bundle of fur that was now feebly squirming and mewling quietly, she felt a twinge of regret that she was going to abandon it, condemn it to a life with Macavity. The way it was curled up, the expression on its miniscule face, made it look so sweet and innocent. Why should it have to be brought up knowing nothing but evil, believing that all the things its father did were ethically correct? Just for one fleeting moment, Demeter considered taking the kitten with her instead.

"Having second thoughts about our little bargain?" came Macavity's voice.

_What do you mean, _our_ bargain?_ Demeter wanted to screech. _It was either obey or die for me! _She blinked a couple times, still looking down at the kitten. She opened her mouth, but then closed it again and gritted her teeth. Looking up at Macavity, that same glare from the previous night reentered her eyes. "No," she answered decisively as she pushed herself to her paws. "This kitten is a symbol of bad times that I do not want to remember. It's more a part of you than it is of me." With that, she (rather shakily, as not all of her strength had returned yet) whirled around and stalked off, leaving Macavity and her newborn son behind her, ignoring the kitten's pitiful wails as it cried for its mother.

The journey through the woods was much quicker this time, partly because she was eager to get back and partly because it was broad daylight, although it probably also helped that she was no longer carrying a fetus. As soon as she stepped into the junkyard that was her home, a flurry of silver tabby fur nearly bowled her over. "Demeter!" It was Munkustrap, her mate. "Demeter! Are you okay? How did it go? Did Macavity hurt you? How do you feel? Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, Munky, calm down! I'm fine. I'll tell you about it later."

"Did you bring back the kitten?" There was no excitement or dread in his voice, just the innocent essence of curiosity.

"No. You remember what he told me! Besides, if he wanted to have an affair with me, then he should handle the consequences."

Munkustrap purred and rubbed his head against hers. "You must be exhausted," he commented. "Come on, you should get some sleep." He led her across the junkyard to a far corner that enclosed the area where they slept.

As Demeter laid down and curled up, she realized how right Munkustrap was, noticing for the first time how tired she was. She looked up at him, the strong, loyal, fierce protector of the Jellicle tribe who was her mate. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Go ahead and go to sleep. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise." Slowly, eyes brimming with warmth and love, he stood up and walked away to check on the other Jellicles and make sure they weren't killing each other. It was just his job –Demeter understood this and she didn't mind. He was always so protective over her. Sometimes he seemed a little too worried about her, but she knew it was just a pure act of devotion. She loved him. Obediently, she closed her eyes and let sleep consume her, letting go of her troubles for now. With Munkustrap by her side, she knew everything would be all right.

Later . . .

Macavity looked down at his three-week-old son, Quaxo. It was the kitten he had had with Demeter, who he had fathered for the sole purpose of raising another minion, another loyal follower. Quaxo's eyes had opened some time ago, but he could not yet walk or talk. Macavity was getting frustrated. How long was this going to take? This was his first kitten, so he really had no idea what to expect from his fatherhood. When did most kittens start talking and walking? And was it normal that Quaxo didn't appear to have grown at all? From what he had seen, Macavity supposed that the small black cat would stay small forever.

"Quaxo," Macavity whispered, wondering if his son would recognize his own name. When the kitten looked up, he continued. "You're going to be my partner in crime someday. Oh, yes, we'll make an unbeatable team!" He chuckled, only to realize that Quaxo was still looking at him blankly. With something that sounded like a cross between a grunt and a sigh, he conceded, "But I suppose you can't understand a word I'm saying, can you? Who am I kidding, of course you can't! Stupid kitten." He got up and started pacing back and forth, grumbling to himself about how Quaxo couldn't even talk yet and this was taking too long and he would never grow up . . . until –

"Presto?"

Macavity froze in his tracks. Did he really just hear that? Did his son just say . . . "Presto"? He turned around. Quaxo was grinning at him. "What was that? What did you say, Quaxo?"

"Presto!" he repeated more confidently.

_Presto_. It was Quaxo's first word! Macavity grinned triumphantly. But then something occurred to him. Where did "presto" come from? He couldn't remember ever saying "presto" in front of his son; in fact, he couldn't recall saying "presto" ever. He frowned, but then he shook it off. Quaxo had just said his first word, which meant things could only get better from then on. The ginger tom stalked back over next to his son and sat down, a trace of something almost like sentiment in his eyes. "Ah, yes, my son," he chuckled again, "you're on your way."

* * * * *

Days passed. Soon, the days became weeks, and the weeks became a month. Macavity was growing furious. Quaxo's vocabulary had increased slightly, but other than "Presto" and "Da-da", it was still monosyllabic. Macavity figured that he had grown approximately a grand total of two inches since he was born. If he had known that this would take so unbearably long, he would never have kidnapped Demeter in the first place. Was parenthood supposed to be so frustrating?

One day, the ginger tom sat in his tree hollow, thinking, until his reverie was interrupted by a squeaky, high-pitched voice. "Da-da!"

With a groan, he hauled himself out into the open, where Quaxo was . . . well, he wasn't quite sure. "What is it?" he asked, trying to sound patient. "Da-da's busy."

Quaxo lay on his belly in the grass. "Uh?" he squeaked, as he planted his paws on the ground and attempted to push himself up, but then fell flat on his stomach with a little "Oof!"

"What are you trying to do, stand up?" Macavity said gruffly. "You'll never get anywhere like that." With a disgusted noise, he turned his back on the kitten and began to stalk back to his den.

"No!" Quaxo squealed.

Macavity uttered a curse under his breath before pivoting back to him. "What do you want?" He was desperately trying to contain his voice level.

"H-help?" he mewed shyly.

"Uuggh," Macavity groaned. "You want a tutorial? Fine then." He slunk over to his son's side and threw himself on the ground. "Watch me." He placed his paws on the ground and pushed his chest and torso off the ground, then turned to Quaxo, whose large brown eyes – the only big feature about him – were fixed intently on him. With a tiny grunt, he imitated his father's movement. Macavity gave a sharp nod, and then planted his footpaws in the grass and shoved his bum in the air. Quaxo followed. His arms and legs were wobbly, however, and uncertainty flashed in his eyes. "It's okay," Macavity told him, trying to sound compassionate. "You're almost there." He took one footpaw and positioned it in front of the other for stability, then pushed off with his hands and came at last into an erect standing position. "Can you do that?" _Probably not,_ he thought to himself.

Quaxo's tiny white face was beginning to turn red, but the doubt crossing his countenance was quickly replaced with determination, and he replicated the push-off. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, and when he looked up at his father, there was an enormous grin spanning his face, almost making him look disproportioned. But suddenly, he began teetering forward, losing his balance. Instinctively, he thrust his paws out in front of him to catch himself. In that moment, lightning shot out from his paws, putting a crack in a nearby boulder, the sudden force knocking him backwards. He landed on his bottom, looking startled.

_Oh, Everlasting Cat, _Macavity thought. _Please don't let him cry!_ But instead, Quaxo looked at the boulder, then at his tiny black paws, then up at his father, and let loose with an infantile giggle. "Presto!" he said, pointing at the boulder as he kept laughing.

Macavity was amazed. Did that really just happen? And if it did, what _was_ that? Could he do it again? Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He was getting an idea. Savagely, he snatched his son off the ground, and the laughter deftly ended to be replaced by a terrified scream. Quaxo began violently struggling against his father's grasp and threw his paws towards the ground. Sure enough, Macavity dodged as another lightning bolt struck near his feet.

"Down! Down!" the terrorized kitten cried. He drew in a deep breath, and let out an ear-splitting scream. "DOWN!" He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out little grunts, and vanished from Macavity's grasp, reappearing sitting on the ground below.

Macavity's paws closed on the empty air, and his head jerked downwards to stare at Quaxo in disbelief. This time, he _was_ crying, trying to move as far away from his father as possible.

But the last thing on Macavity's mind was calming him down. His thoughts were with what he had just witnessed. Quaxo could fire lightning from the tips of his paws. And that . . . did he _teleport_ onto the ground? He blinked, then let out a sinister chuckle. His son had magical powers. _This whole scheme may work out even better than I thought it would_, he thought demonically.

Quaxo's sobs, however, were growing intolerable. With a sigh, Macavity bent down, arms extended. "I'm sorry, Quaxo, I didn't mean to frighten you. Come on, I think you need a nap." _Where did_ that _come from? _he thought as soon as the words escaped his mouth.

But Quaxo still shied away from him. "Da-da bees mean!" he wailed. "No want nap!"

"I said I was sorry!" Macavity snarled, making Quaxo cry harder. He stepped towards his son to scoop him up, but the kitten, in a sudden, unexpected motion, pushed his arms out in front of him, and just like that, Macavity felt like he had struck an invisible wall. He stumbled backwards, rubbing his muzzle. Then, slowly, cautiously, he stepped forward and felt around with his paws. They came into contact with something hard, yet he could see nothing. Quaxo was sitting on the other side of this . . . whatever it was, his arms held out and his muscles tensed. Macavity's mouth fell open and his paws dropped to his sides. It was almost as if his son had created a . . .

"F-forcefield?" he whispered, eyes stretched wide. He reached out and touched it again. "Amazing," he murmured. Seeing that Macavity was no longer coming towards him, Quaxo relaxed himself, and the forcefield disappeared. The corners of his eyes were red, and he was still breathing heavily.

"No more be mean," he dictated, "or else more presto."

Of course, any regular father would have been pleased at how well his son had articulated from the limited vocabulary he had, and surprised that he knew that what he was doing was magic. Even the fact that he knew at all what he was doing should come as a surprise. More to the point, a good father would have been impressed that an infant could know to connect magic with "presto", use it in a sentence like that, and threaten to use it as an aid in a potentially bad situation. Indeed, any normal father would say that Quaxo was a child prodigy.

But Macavity was not a normal father. Trying to sound gentle and suave (something he was quite good at), he assured, "It's okay. Da-da won't be mean anymore." Stooping down and reaching out, he informed him, "But you do need a nap."

Quaxo looked up and met his father's eyes, then slowly crawled into his outstretched arms. As Macavity rose up, the little black cat gave a yawn, blinked a couple times, then closed his eyes. Macavity stalked back to the hollow and delicately laid him down. However, he felt no pride whatsoever. Just surprise at what he had seen. As far as he was concerned, Quaxo was merely another kitten, not unlike any other – except for the fact that he had magical powers. So, surrounded by peace and quiet at last, Macavity resumed his thinking. Quaxo _was_ going to be his partner in crime some day, and his powers _were_ all going to work in Macavity's favor. Someday.

That night, Macavity was haunted by a dream that kept playing over and over in his mind. He dreamt that Quaxo, grown up considerably, was walking away from him. That was it. Quaxo would keep walking away, disappearing into the distance, swallowed up into the vast void stretching in front of him. And the dream kept repeating over and over and over . . . One time, however, it was different. As Quaxo stalked away, suddenly flames consumed the image. Burning flames, licking hungrily at Macavity, their sweltering heat pressing down on him, the smoke invading his nostrils, suffocating him . . .

"Da-da!" He knew that voice. A paw jabbed his side, and his eyes flew open. "Da-da! No more sleep! Need help! Bad cat! Bad cat!"

In that moment, Macavity realized that the last part wasn't a dream; he could smell smoke, and an orange glow emanated from outside the den. _Fire!_ He heaved himself up. Quaxo was horror-stricken. "Bad cat! Help!"

"Bad cat"? What did he mean by that? Was he referring to the fire? Macavity supposed that Quaxo wouldn't know what it was, so he had placed the only name he knew to it.

"Out!" the kitten cried, pointing, and dragged himself outside. With a groan, Macavity followed. Around them, flames encircled a small area. "Bad cat!" he repeated.

"Quaxo, that's not a bad cat. That's fire. It's a –"

"No!" Quaxo sounded frustrated. In a sudden motion, he leaped up onto his hind paws, grabbed his father's paw, and pointed to the shape of a bush. "_Bad! Cat!_"

If Macavity were not still half asleep, this would have given him the shock of his life, but it didn't register that Quaxo was actually standing. He just looked in the direction he was pointing. "A _bush_? You're not scared of a fire, but you're scared of a TINY LITTLE BUSH?!"

"Not that! Is bad cat!"

Macavity was struggling to contain himself. "No . . . it's a bush."

Quaxo opened his mouth again, but just then a trembling feline shape crept out from behind the bush. Macavity immediately recognized one of his henchcats. Quaxo screeched and started waving his paws in a spherical motion until Macavity saw that he was conjuring up a fireball. At least that explained the blaze. The henchcat responded with an equally high-pitched screech and ducked down again.

"See? Bad cat!"

Macavity sighed. Quaxo didn't know about his henchcats. Of course he had thought it was a bad cat. He silently cursed himself for not introducing them earlier, but a blazing streak out of the corner of his eye brought his attention back to his son. Quaxo had thrown the fireball at the bush. Another scream sounded as it alighted. The henchcat streaked out from behind it, small trails of smoke radiating off his fur where the fire had singed it. He ran past Macavity, but the latter grabbed the henchcat's tail as he passed, bringing him to a stop.

_Heaviside help me. _"Quaxo, this is one of my henchcats. You're, uh, Henchcat E-38, right?"

"No, I'm H-94," the henchcat mumbled.

"Whatever. Anyway, whoever you are, this is my son Quaxo. You'll have to excuse him."

Quaxo, still standing up, cocked his head to one side curiously. "Hench . . . Cat?" he repeated.

"Yes. Henchcat. He helps me, um, with my . . . plans."

"Plans?"

Macavity sighed. Quaxo was just repeating whatever his father said. "Never mind." He was acutely aware, however, of Quaxo staring at the henchcat unblinkingly. Looking down at him, Macavity saw that distrust shone in his eyes, and his upper lip was curled back slightly. He was hissing.

"Quaxo!" he exclaimed. "That's no way to treat my henchcats!" He wanted to make sure that Quaxo grew up with the idea that they were good, not bad.

"But . . . you treat me like that all the time, boss," the henchcat pointed out.

Still holding him by the tail, Macavity aimed a blow at the side of the henchcat's head. "Shut up," he growled.

"No." Quaxo shook his little black and white head.

"Are you backsassing me?" Macavity turned on him suddenly.

"Is bad cat!" he protested again, pointing at the henchcat.

Macavity let out a disgusted noise and buried his forehead in his free paw. "This isn't going anywhere," he grumbled. "We'll have to work on this later." Releasing the henchcat, he commanded, "Go back to wherever you came from, E-38."

"But I'm H-"

"Just go!" he snarled. The henchcat yelped and disappeared.

He turned to Quaxo, who he still had not realized was standing up. "You. Put out this fire _right now_, you hear? I'm going back to sleep." He stalked away. After he had disappeared into the hollow, there was nothing but silence. He doubted Quaxo had understood him. _That stupid kitten will probably burn down the entire forest, _he thought irritably.

Just then, however, a violent roll of thunder crashed through the air, and a bolt of lightning tore through the night. As Macavity looked outside, it began pouring rain. Quaxo trotted inside, looking quite pleased with himself. He slumped back down on four paws upon his return. "No more fire," he announced. "I make boom. And wet things fall from sky." He yawned and laid down on his side. "We sleep good now."

Macavity looked at him for a long moment. _Quaxo _had made the thunderstorm? _Ugh, _he thought. _This kitten will be the death of me yet. _

* * * * *

Back in the junkyard, Demeter sat thinking. It had been a long time – she had long since lost track of the days – since the birth of her kitten. She was sure it would be growing up just like its father, and a shudder passed through her as she thought about having a second Macavity to watch out for. _Is this all my fault? _she asked herself._ After all, I was the one who fell in love with him. I ignored Munkustrap's warnings, and look where it got me. _Demeter sighed. She was beginning to feel rather guilty about leaving the kitten with Macavity. It was true that she hadn't had a choice, but the golden queen couldn't shake the feeling that there must have been _something _she could have done. As she pictured the scene that kept playing in her mind, the image of her tiny black-and-white son curled up peacefully, eyes tightly closed, looking so sweet and innocent, she felt a stab of many emotions: love, sympathy, guilt, wistfulness . . . and a stronger sense of compassion than she could ever remember feeling. Were all these emotions supposed to be a normal part of motherhood? Demeter placed her forehead in her paw and drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. A single tear trickled down her cheek. The sound of the kitten's wails as she had walked away was sure to haunt her forever.

A paw on her shoulder brought her back to the junkyard. She looked up to see Munkustrap, who met her gaze, looking concerned.

"Is everything alright?" he asked quietly.

Demeter looked away. There was a long pause before she replied. "I just can't stop thinking about that kitten." She didn't have to elaborate further: they both knew what kitten she meant. "I'm stating to feel really sorry that I had to just . . . abandon it with Macavity. It . . ." she trailed off. Somehow, it didn't feel right to be calling her own kitten an "it". So she picked up her sentence again, remedying it with a better pronoun. "Well, he just looked so peaceful . . . so innocent. He doesn't know right from wrong. He can't help it if he becomes evil like his father! I'm really starting to wish I could have done something."

There was another pause. As Munkustrap, like Demeter, had never parented his own kitten before, he didn't know what to say to console her.

Then, impulsively, Demeter stood up, a new light of determination flaring in her eyes. Ignoring a startled noise from Munkustrap, she headed towards the outside of the junkyard. Just as she was about to step out, however, a silver shape intercepted her. "What are you doing?" Munkustrap cried.

"I'm going to find Macavity," Demeter told him.

"What?" The tabby looked incredulous.

"I'm taking my kitten back!" She pushed him aside and proceeded to exit the rubbish dump.

Munkustrap grabbed her shoulders firmly. "No! Demmy!" She whirled around to face him, annoyed that he was impeding her progress. "He'll kill you! Where's your common sense?"

Their eyes met. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, just stared unblinkingly at each other. Finally, Demeter broke the silence. "I know," she said quietly, casting her eyes downward. "I'm sorry."

Munkustrap placed his paw under her chin and lifted her head, and their eyes locked again. The silver tabby smiled gently. "It's okay. I know you'd never do anything like that."

Demeter smiled back lovingly. Munkustrap leaned in towards her and she leaned towards him, but in that moment they were interrupted by a distinctive Scottish accent.

"Munkustrap?" it said. Both cats looked up to see an orange tabby.

"Yes? What is it, Skimbleshanks?" Munkustrap answered.

"I, um, I'm sorry to interrupt you," Skimbleshanks said sheepishly, "but can you please come check on Jenny?"

Munkustrap looked at Demeter apologetically, but she nodded, flashing him a look that said, "It's alright."

A few months ago, Skimbleshanks had found out that his mate, Jennyanydots, was pregnant. And he hadn't let her out of his sight since, except when he had to go away on a train. Even when that happened, he was always very concerned and worried, making sure Jenny knew that she was going to be fine.

As Munkustrap stalked away with Skimble at his side, Demeter felt a twinge of jealousy. Their kitten was lucky to have two loving parents, who cared both for each other and it. Parents who would always be there to guide its way and help it make the right decisions, who would always be watching over it and keeping it safe. And once again, she felt an urge to run back to Macavity's lair and take her son back with her. But she knew she couldn't. Her eyes followed Munkustrap and Skimbleshanks for a long time, before she sighed and headed after them.

* * * * *

More months passed. Finally, Macavity was beginning to see some distinctive, albeit gradual, progress in his son's development. He could now articulate and walk with no problem, and all the time he was discovering new powers he had. However, there was still a small problem: he didn't seem to have any control over them at all.

By the time Quaxo was four months old, Macavity decided he was sick of waiting. He was going to put his son to the ultimate test: and that was to see how well he fared in an actual raid. There was just one thing he hadn't accounted for.

"_What_ do you want me to do?" the black-and-white kitten exclaimed.

"You heard me. While my henchcats and I –" Macavity couldn't help but notice that the fur along Quaxo's spine still bristled at the mention of his henchcats – "are stealing the humans' valuables, you use your powers to distract them, and make sure they don't find us. You can do anything you want!"

"Uhh . . . I don't know, Dad. This whole thing just . . . you know, it doesn't seem right."

"Come on, Quaxo." He hated to resort to begging, but he was growing impatient. "You'll enjoy yourself once we get started. Now come along; it's getting dark. We should be going soon." He grabbed one of his son's scrawny black arms.

Quaxo jerked away. "If you've been able to escape without a distraction before, why do you need one now?" he pointed out, trying to talk his father out of it.

Macavity grabbed his arm again, holding on with an incredibly tight grip, ignoring his son's struggles. "It's not practice for me," he told him harshly. "It's practice for you."

Quaxo hesitated, and the struggling stopped for a moment. " . . . Huh?"

"I need a new partner in crime," Macavity said bluntly.

Quaxo's mouth fell open. He looked at his arm, then up at his father. His eyes narrowed, and he dematerialized, appearing sitting on the ground with his back to Macavity a little ways away. "Why does it have to be _me_?"

Macavity was taken aback. "You're my SON!" he bellowed. "Who else would it be?"

"And you have . . ._ how_ many henchcats again?" Quaxo reminded him dryly.

"Those WORTHLESS lumps of fur? They haven't a functioning brain cell in their heads! But you . . . you have _powers_! You can shoot lightning! Make fireballs! You can just do so many things! Quaxo, I _need_ your powers!"

There was a pause. When Quaxo spoke, his voice sounded empty, betrayed. "You don't care about me as a son at all," he realized aloud.

When Macavity didn't respond, Quaxo knew he was right. Instead, his father gave a flick of his tail, and immediately two henchcats leaped out of nowhere. He latched onto his arm again. "Let's go," he said coldly.

* * * * *

The next thing he knew, Quaxo was standing in the darkness, and far away from the forest that was his home. The silhouetted shape of a house loomed ahead. A chilly breeze swept through the night air, pressing his fur to his body, making him look even smaller than usual. He shuddered. There was something vaguely familiar about this – not the house, but the mood. Suddenly, Quaxo got a strange feeling that he had been in this situation before: he was standing somewhere where he knew he really shouldn't be, on a dark, ominous night; yet at the same time, he knew he had to be here or else suffer the consequences from Macavity. But, in retrospect, he couldn't remember a single occasion when he had been forced to do anything similar to this.

"What are you waiting for?" Macavity's impatient voice brought him back to the situation at hand. "Distract the humans."

"What for? They're sleeping," he improvised, desperately groping for some last-minute excuse so that he wouldn't have to do this.

"Just do it!" his father snarled. Quaxo knew that tone of voice well: it meant that unless he obeyed, his hours would be numbered. Stalling wouldn't work anymore.

Quaxo's mind raced frantically. _What should I do?_ he wondered. _Of course I won't do anything _that _bad. Maybe . . . maybe I could just make something shatter. A plate or a glass, maybe? That wouldn't be too harmful. _So, left with no choice, he concentrated very hard until he heard a sickening crash. He put a paw over his mouth, an expression that said "Oops!" on his face. He hadn't intended for an entire room to topple over! Too late, he reminded himself that he didn't really know how to use his powers yet, and not everything he tried turned out well.

A light came on in one of the rooms. The people were awake. Macavity laughed maniacally. "Psychokinesis! Perfect!"

_Like I know what _that_ means,_ Quaxo thought sarcastically.

"Keep distracting them!" Macavity ordered. Turning to his henchcats, he said, "Come on. Let's get inside."

Quaxo looked away from them, turning his attention back to the house. He was mortified. This couldn't be happening! Why did Macavity want him to keep creating diversions? The humans seemed busy enough. Quaxo felt terribly guilty. He perked his ears, tuning them to the ultra high-frequency sounds that the humans couldn't hear. Before long, he picked up what sounded like three feline forms working in secret. He pictured the room in his mind, and concentrated on the image. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was standing in the room. That was one thing he had taught himself how to do.

Macavity and the two henchcats were all loading their arms with shiny jewels. At that moment, the former turned around and gave a little start when he saw Quaxo. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "I told you to keep going!"

He opened his mouth to protest, but quickly thought better of it. After thinking for a moment, he hesitantly gave a flick of his paw, and just like that all of the lights in the house blinked off. Surprised human voices came from another room.

Macavity humphed. Obviously, that wasn't what he had had in mind. But with a glance down at his haul, he gruffly decided, "Alright, that's enough." Casting his own paw over himself, his henchcats, and Quaxo, he executed one of the few acts of prestidigitation he could perform. All of a sudden, the four cats were once again standing outside. But before he took them back to his lair, it looked as if Macavity was getting an idea. He set down his jewels and turned to his son. "Quaxo, give me a rock."

His belly churning with uneasiness, Quaxo found a small rock on the ground. Placing his paw just above it, he slowly made it float tentatively a few inches off the ground, then made a jerking motion of his paw. It flew forward and landed next to Macavity, though he had half hoped it would hit him.

The lanky ginger tom leaned over and picked it up. He tossed it up in the air a couple times, then drew his arm back. Quaxo realized what he was doing a fraction of a heartbeat before he did it. His jaw dropped, and he involuntarily took a couple steps backwards. Then, with tremendous force, Macavity hurled the rock at a particularly large window of the house.

Quaxo saw the glass shatter a split second before he heard it, and in that moment he felt his blood turn to water. There was a high-pitched shriek, followed by a panicked female voice screaming, "Call Scotland Yard!"

And Macavity belted out the most evil laugh Quaxo had ever heard. He could hardly believe what he had just seen. Picking up his armload of jewels, Macavity, still cackling, created a sort of electric shock over himself, his henchcats, and a horrified Quaxo, and then they were back in the forested clearing that was his lair.

"Excellent job, boys!" Macavity congratulated as his henchcats handed him their jewels. "I think this is one of our best hauls so far." He turned to Quaxo, who was sitting on the ground, arms folded across his white chest, brow furrowed. "What's with you?" he asked unsentimentally. "Is something wrong?"

"_This _is wrong!" Quaxo burst out. "This whole thing! You can't just go around stealing things like that! It's just . . . wrong!"

"But I do," Macavity said stubbornly.

"I know that!" Quaxo was on the verge of screaming. "I don't care if you do it! You shouldn't!"

"Says who?" Macavity retorted.

But Quaxo was prepared. "Says anyone with an ounce of common sense!" he shot back.

Macavity's eyes burned like fire, like two gleaming embers piercing the darkness. "What's that supposed to mean?" he growled menacingly.

"It's supposed to mean that I refuse to be a part of this!" Quaxo yelled.

"Refuse all you want, but you have no choice. You _will _do this, and you _will _be my partner in crime."

"Or else what?" Quaxo snapped defiantly. He felt a surge of satisfaction when he saw a flicker of uncertainty in his father's glaring eyes. There he was, staring straight into the face of a cat who he knew could easily kill him, and he was defying every instinct in his body. His heart was pounding, and only then did he realize how scared he was. Yet at the same time, it was incredibly exhilarating. It was as if he held the epitome of adrenaline in his own two paws. Suddenly, the small black cat felt very powerful.

Quaxo and Macavity remained staring each other down for a moment that could have lasted forever. Finally, Macavity coldly said, "It's late. Go to bed." And those were the last words on the matter.

* * * * *

Pale sunlight warming the musty tree hollow woke Quaxo. He blinked open his eyes and heaved himself to his paws, and all of a sudden he found himself face-to-face with Macavity. He yelped like a dog and, instinctively, fired off a lightning bolt.

Macavity dodged it, coughing as bits of mulch showered down on top of him from where the bolt had struck the tree. "You're awake," he observed.

At first, Quaxo was confused by the note of bitterness in his father's voice, but then he remembered the previous night's argument. Stifling a yawn, he sharply asked, "What are you doing?"

Instead of giving him a direct answer, however, Macavity told him, "You're coming on another raid with us."

"Wh–" the four-month-old kitten jumped in surprise, bumping his head on the top of the hollow. "Ow – what? When?"

"In three days. There's much planning that needs to be done, so –"

"Oh, no," Quaxo interrupted. "You're not dragging me into another one of those." He brushed past Macavity and stepped outside.

"And why not?" an accusing voice stopped him in his tracks.

Quaxo whirled around. "Why not? _Why not?_ I told you why not! It's wrong! I AM NOT DOING IT AGAIN!" He could feel his face growing hot.

"Oh, yes you are!" Macavity dictated.

He folded his arms across his chest. "Oh yeah?" he challenged contemptuously. Without thinking, he added, "Make me!" only to realize too late that that was the worst possible thing he could have said.

Macavity's mane and fur had begun bristling out until he now looked twice his normal size. One step at a time, he advanced towards him until he stood towering over his son. He looked so icily calm, however, that it was almost startling. "All right then," he said quietly, yet strongly. "Maybe . . ." he raised his paws over his head. Sunlight glinted off his twisted, gnarled claws. " . . . I . . ." his muscles bulged as he gathered up his energy. " . . . will!" And he sent an electric shock of incredible strength over Quaxo.

The small black cat lay writhing under the charged current, twitching and jerking spasmodically, screaming in pain. It felt as if this electricity was draining everything he had: his energy, his breath, his sense of feeling . . . and his life. It was the most pain he could ever recall being in; it didn't feel like anything he had experienced before, therefore it was impossible to describe it. Never in his entire longevity would he feel something else so painful as this . . . at least, not on the outside.

And then, just like that, everything stopped. The shocking, the writhing, the screaming. Everything stopped, and Quaxo fell in a crumpled heap of fur on the ground.

_Am I dead?_ That was his first thought. _No, _he realized, _I'm still breathing. Ugh. What happened? And what's that weird tingle I'm feeling?_

A gasp sounded from the direction of Macavity. "Q-Quaxo! Your fur!"

"Mmmnnngghhh," Quaxo groaned.

"Your fur . . ." Macavity repeated. "It's . . . it's . . . it's flashing!"

"Mmf . . . whazza?" He tried to lift his head.

"Your fur is lighting up!"

Summoning up all of the energy he had left, Quaxo planted his front paws on the ground and hauled himself halfway up. He felt like he was made of lead. Slowly, he turned his head and craned his neck so that he could look over his shoulder, down at his back. Sure enough, his black pelt was flashing, as if generating its own electricity. Just then, it stopped. Quaxo, suddenly very alert, sat up.

Macavity's eyes were stretched wide. "Do . . . can you do that again?" His voice was no more than a husky whisper.

"I . . . I don't know," answered Quaxo, equally as surprised. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, straining every muscle in his body until he felt that same static, tingly sensation.

"Sweet mother of the Everlasting Cat," Macavity murmured.

A grin tugged at the corners of Quaxo's mouth, but he fought it. Suddenly rounding on his father, he hollered, "What were you thinking? You could have killed me!"

The wonder in Macavity's eyes was quickly replaced with a scowl. "Who says I wasn't trying to?"

Quaxo's jaw dropped. "First my mother abandons me, and then my father tries to kill me?" He had heard much about how his mother, Demeter, had abandoned him at birth. "I can't believe it!"

"She didn't abandon you!" Macavity told him sharply. "She abandoned me!"

There was a moment of silence. "I can see why," he muttered. Raising his voice, he demanded, "Doesn't anyone really care about you at all?"

Macavity seemed slightly taken aback, but then he chuckled. "Oh, you do remind me of your mother." He continued to laugh.

A low growl emanated from Quaxo's throat. Slowly, he stood up, not quite sure what to do next. For a moment, he thought about shooting lightning at Macavity, but he knew that, considering what had just happened, it wouldn't be a good idea. He supposed that he could block any counterattack with a forcefield, but since his powers were still untamed, it wouldn't be wise to press his luck. But he couldn't stay and let himself be dragged into another raid. So, he simply whirled around and stalked away.

Macavity stopped laughing. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

"Home!" Quaxo called without looking back.

"This _is _your home," Macavity informed him.

Quaxo stopped, but still didn't turn around. "No, it's not," he said darkly. "Home is where you can live in safety and comfort, where you know there's always someone there for you, who cares about you. This is _not_ home. I'm going to find my mother!" His pelt flashed once again in anger before he resumed walking.

"No, you're coming right back here!" Macavity corrected him.

But Quaxo just kept going.

" . . . But you don't know how, or where, to find your mother!"

"I'll find a way. And even if I get lost, it'll be better than being_ here_!" Quaxo's voice, already shrill from yelling, cracked on the last word.

Macavity was growing furious. "YOU GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!" he thundered.

Finally, Quaxo turned around. But instead of coming back, he stood staring at his father for a moment, without blinking, his expression hard and unreadable. He stared directly into his father's eyes, captivating him, bathing him in his brown gaze. Then, finally, he spoke: "No." His voice was strong and steady. "I'm not making the same mistake you did. I can tell good from bad, and I don't wish misery upon people for no reason. I –" now, his voice faltered slightly. He swallowed and blinked to clear his eyes of the beginnings of tears that were forming there. "I used to trust you. I used to look up to you, and respect you. I used to think you were the best cat in the world. You had a precious, precious thing there: you had my trust. I saw you as a role model, and you should have been proud. But what did you do? You went and squandered it by trying to bring me up evil. Ah, yes, I used to love you like a father! But now I know better. All that trouble you went through to raise me, and teach me how to walk and talk . . . all you did to gain my trust and respect . . . all for nothing." In that moment, he noticed something in his father's eyes that he had never seen there before: a trace of sorrow, and just a hint of regret. But, as Quaxo had expected, it was quickly drowned out by fury. "So, no. I'm never coming back." He stayed a moment longer, and then vanished into thin air.

A guttural snarl almost better described as a roar ripped savagely from Macavity's throat, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Quaxo wasn't coming back. He picked up a nearby stone and flung it at a tree with such strength that it dented the bark. He did have to admit, however, that his son had almost made him repent. Perhaps he had inherited a great power of suavity from him. There went all his efforts, right there. _He'll be sorry, _he silently vowed. _Someday, I'll come back to get him. I'll get him, and then maybe I'll _finally _get my sweet revenge on that entire miserable tribe of Jellicles. Oh, believe me, Quaxo, you'll be sorry! _he finished, hoping that Quaxo was reading his mind at that very moment. And with that, he whirled around and slunk away, cursing.

* * * * *

An owl hooted somewhere in the dark. Quaxo started at the noise and crouched down, paws over his head, looking around wildly. A large shadow passed over him as the bird flew overhead, its piercing yellow gaze sweeping the forest ominously. He felt a shudder run up his spine. His breaths coming in through a series of gasps, Quaxo shakily rose and continued on his way. He had left Macavity's lair early that morning, in hopes of finding his mother so that he could live with her. And now here he was, wandering aimlessly through some unknown terrain, straying far from any recognizable landmarks. He had absolutely no idea where he was going or what awaited him there, yet he knew that, no matter what, he could not go back. There was no comfort there, no sentiment or compassion. _But at least it was familiar! _an inward voice wailed. With a long, almost remorseful sigh, Quaxo reflected that all his earliest memories had taken place there. That was where he had grown up – where he was born, where he first discovered his powers . . . the list was never-ending. Everything from his kittenhood was centered there; therefore it was an integral part of his life. Yes, indeed there was the comfort of familiarity there, but reaching back into all his recollections of early life, he realized that that was the only kind of comfort it comprised. Shaking his small black head to clear it, Quaxo padded on.

The moon bathed the forest in its cold light. The silhouettes of trees loomed overhead, standing still and erect. The whole world seemed eerily silent. Quaxo was beginning to get frightened. Never before had his mother seemed to far away. Not that she was close to begin with, but Quaxo had a gnawing suspicion that Macavity was right: he _didn't _know how to find his mother. He had tried the trick he had taught himself, but somehow he was unable to conjure up an image to match his destination. Despairingly, he looked up at the sky. "Everlasting Cat," he whispered to the stars, "please help me. All I want is to know where I belong." He sat down with a dejected sigh.

Just then, however, something out of the corner of Quaxo's eye caught his attention. His head jerked up to face the heavens once again just in time to see a shooting star blazing across that great, blank void that was the vacuum of space. A celestial omen. As its glowing trail faded away into nothingness, Quaxo felt a tiny flicker of hope. He catapulted himself to his paws and raced after it, mentally repeating to himself: _You're going to make it, you're going to make it! Yes, just keep going, Quaxo, and you'll be fine! Don't give up, just keep going! You're going to make it! _He raised his voice so that he was shouting triumphantly into the great yonder beyond. "Mother, I'm coming home!"

And somewhere far away, Demeter shifted contentedly in her sleep.

* * * * *

The first streaks of dawn light were peeking over the horizon when an unfamiliar tang met Quaxo's nose. He opened his mouth and inhaled, drawing the aroma over his scent glands. It smelled like a bunch of rotting things, garbage and such. But far more perceptible than that was the smell of cats – lots of cats. Weary from his night-long journey, his ears perked up. Was this the place he was looking for? Macavity had never said anything about a junkyard, but the scent of cats was unmistakable. He padded closer. There was an enormous fence circling the perimeter of this junkyard. Finding a spot at the base of the fence where a bunch of the shiny wire had been broken off, he squeezed himself in and took shelter behind the nearest heap of garbage, then poked his head out to investigate. What he saw made his mouth gape open. He had never seen so many cats in one place in his life! Six kittens, most of them younger than him, were at play in the center of everything, with about eight adolescents looking on with amusement, and more adults than Quaxo could count circulating and doing what they did. _One of them might be my mother! _he thought with a twinge of excitement. Intrigued, he stepped out, revealing himself.

In that moment, one of the adolescents' heads snapped up and looked Quaxo directly in the eye. He was white with a bunch of black splotches. "Munkustrap!" he yelled. "Intruder! Intruder!" He pointed at the kitten, who leaped backwards in surprise.

A silver tabby whipped around to face him. Simultaneously, Quaxo felt the eyes of every cat in the junkyard rest on him: some accusing, some suspicious, and some just plain curious. He felt his white cheeks turning red, and he shrunk back, embarrassed.

The tabby stalked over to him. Quaxo withdrew even farther as his shadow fell over him, not daring to meet his gaze. He soon turned around, however, and when he spoke, he didn't sound angry, but instead accepting and almost understanding. "It's just a kitten, Alonzo. I don't think he's an intruder." Turning back to the small black cat, he crouched down until they were at the same eye level. "It's okay, we're not going to hurt you, don't worry," he said calmly. "What's your name?"

"Q-Quaxo," he managed to squeak.

Another cat, this one a female, appeared behind the silver tabby – Munkustrap, apparently. She looked very confused, as if she was trying to remember something, but couldn't.

Munkustrap turned around. "What are you doing, Demmy?" he addressed the queen. "Do you feel alright? You look . . . dazed."

"I know that kitten," she whispered slowly. "He looks familiar."

Quaxo looked up at her. She was golden and black, and he couldn't recall ever seeing her before. But the scent radiating off her was almost startlingly recognizable.

Munkustrap looked at him again. "Where did you come from?" he asked.

"Uh . . . I came from the lair of a cat named Macavity," he explained, not sure if these cats would be familiar with his father. "I –"

He was cut off by a sharp gasp. Looking up, he saw that the golden queen's eyes were stretched wide, and a strong sense of recognition flared in their blue depths. "M-M-Munky!" she exclaimed. "Of course! It's-he's-oh, Munky, don't you see? This is my son!"

"What?" cried Munkustrap and Quaxo in unison.

"My mother's name was Demeter . . ." Quaxo began, recalling what Macavity had told him, but then trailed off.

The queen nodded. "Yes. That's me."

For a moment, neither of them said anything, nor did they need to. Munkustrap just looked incredulous. Then, Demeter swooped down and scooped up the kitten into her arms. "My son! Oh, my son's come home! I've missed you so much, my little . . ."

" . . . Quaxo?" he finished.

"Yes! Quaxo! You're home!" Demeter began laughing, and tears trickled from her eyes. But then she was interrupted.

"Demeter! What are you _doing_?" This time, it was a red adolescent queen who spoke.

Still grinning hugely, Demeter looked at her. "Bomby, this is my son!"

The red queen cocked an eyebrow. Meanwhile, the black and white tom still looked very skeptical of him. Demeter set him down as Munkustrap walked up.

"So, what's with this . . . kitten?" called some cat.

"Where'd he come from?" demanded another.

A black and orange tom jumped to his paws, bristling. "Yea, an' why's 'e got the smell a' Macavi'y on 'is fur?" he shouted. Something about the tone of his voice led Quaxo to believe he may have had something to do with Macavity himself.

At this, a commotion broke out among the assembled cats. The only ones that looked calm were Demeter and Munkustrap. The latter stood glaring at the tribe impatiently. Clearly, these cats weren't on a very pleasant note with Macavity. Munkustrap beckoned Demeter and Quaxo over to his side, then drew in a deep breath and yowled, "Everyone quiet down!"

Immediately, a hush fell over the cats. Munkustrap stood authoritatively at the head of the group, his gaze sweeping the junkyard, boring into the eyes of every onlooker. "This might not be what we think it is," he told them. "Maybe if we asked Quaxo here –" he gestured with his paw – "himself, he might be able to answer our questions."

Beads of sweat began condensing on Quaxo's forehead as, once again, the eyes of every cat landed on him.

"Why d'ya smell loyke Macavi'y?" the same black and orange tom from before interrogated harshly.

"I'm . . . his son . . ." Quaxo admitted.

"Don't you remember?" Demeter prompted. "Macavity kidnapped me!"

Understanding noises gradually came from the cats.

"But why did you leave him?" came a new voice pointedly. It belonged to a tall black and brown tom with a wild, frizzy mane. The red queen who had spoken before was standing very close next to him.

"Because he's a bad cat. He didn't deserve to keep me. He was just going to bring me up as another minion anyway."

A few of the cats exchanged glances and shrugged their shoulders. The tom spoke again: "How do we know you're not lying? You could be a spy!" Quaxo noticed that it was only adolescents who were questioning him.

He was taken aback. How was he to convince these cats that he came here of his own will? "But I'm . . . not a spy . . ."

"How do we know?" he repeated.

"I'm not! I came here of my own –"

Munkustrap cut him off. "Don't worry about it." Raising his voice, he seemed to address the tom with a sort of brotherly scorn in his voice. "Tugger, knock it off. This kitten's been a long way and you're not helping him."

Tugger sat down with a "Humph!"

Munkustrap ignored him. "Does anyone else want to antagonize this poor little guy?" There was a pause. Finally, he ordered, "Okay. Someone fetch Old Deuteronomy."

A couple of cats scampered away. Quaxo was bewildered. "Um, wh–"

He was interrupted, however, by an angry growl from Munkustrap. "Alonzo! Don't even think about –"

But his warning came too late. The next thing Quaxo knew, a cat had leapt on him, bowling him over. Startled, he shot off a lightning bolt.

His attacker screeched and immediately broke away, scampering off to sit, trembling, behind a throng of adults, all of whom were staring at him in shock.

This time, even Munkustrap looked dazed. "What did you do?" he cried.

Realizing that he had just fired lightning at one of these cats, Quaxo's face began to grow hot. So embarrassed was he that his pelt flashed, which made him blush harder. "Erm, s-s-sorry," he stuttered. "I forgot to mention that I have powers."

"I noticed," said the black and white cat, his voice cracking.

A couple of the kittens giggled. Quaxo heard one of them say, "You sounded like a girl!"

But the tom paid no attention to them, just trembling behind the adults, looking embarrassed.

"I don't really know how to use them, though," Quaxo confessed. "I was just . . . born with them."

Demeter was staring at him in awe.

A rustle brought everyone's attention to the outskirts of the junkyard, where a very big, very old cat was emerging. He was patched with varying shades of brown, and the fur around his muzzle was tinged with white from age.

"Old Deuteronomy." Munkustrap bowed down in respect.

The old cat lumbered across the junkyard and eased himself onto a tire. "Yes, Munkustrap. You have summoned me?"

"Yes, I have. Old Deuteronomy, this kitten – Quaxo – strayed into the junkyard just now. He says he is the son of Macavity and Demeter, but lots of cats don't trust him. We need your advice."

Old Deuteronomy nodded slowly, then turned to face Quaxo. He looked very wise, and it was apparent that all of the cats respected him greatly. "Come here, little one." He sounded friendly, inviting.

Quaxo stepped forward shakily.

"You are the son of Macavity?"

"Y-yes. I am. But I left him, because –"

"Because you saw darkness in his heart," Old Deuteronomy finished for him.

Quaxo was amazed. How did he know that?

"You did right, young Quaxo. I congratulate you for being able to see him as more than your father. It took lots of courage to leave him, no?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, it did."

Old Deuteronomy nodded again. "And now you are wondering where to go. You have betrayed your father, and are not sure where you belong."

Quaxo stared up at him in wonder. It was as if he had read his mind. "I want to stay with my mother!" he proclaimed. "I could never survive on my own!"

The old cat looked at him contemplatively for a moment that seemed to last forever. Then, finally, he looked out among all the other cats. "I see no bad intentions behind this kitten," he announced. "He is merely seeking a refuge from this rough life he has lived. There is no reason in all Heaviside that he cannot stay with the Jellicles."

At this declaration, some cats shrugged, others looked at Quaxo warmly, and still others quietly buzzed among themselves. A couple of the adolescents still looked wary of him, but a word from their leader was hard to ignore. Demeter looked thrilled. She picked up Quaxo and gave him a loving hug. Quaxo hugged back, equally as trilled. Even Munkustrap was looking very welcoming. "Thank you, Old Deuteronomy. I can handle it from here."

Old Deuteronomy nodded once, then sat back and let the silver tabby take over.

The murmur from all of the cats who Quaxo now knew where called Jellicles died away as Munkustrap stepped up. "Well, you heard him. Quaxo's staying. But there are still some things we have to work out. First off, who will he stay with?"

Demeter looked at Munkustrap tenderly. She didn't have to speak; her facial expression said it all. With a loving grin, he took back his request. "Never mind. He shall stay with Demeter and I, and we will treat him as our son. I would be delighted to serve as his father." He turned to Quaxo and smiled warmly. Following that, he thought a moment before issuing another order. "Coricopat and Tantomile?"

From somewhere towards the back of the crowd, two identical cats stood up at the same time.

"You are to work with Quaxo and help him learn to control his powers."

Coricopat and Tantomile both nodded, then sat back down.

"And one more thing. The name Quaxo is symbolic of Macavity. It symbolizes this kitten's unfortunate past. Surely that is not a worthy namesake?"

Quaxo blinked.

"Therefore, we must change his name before we can fully accept him as a true Jellicle. Old Deuteronomy?"

Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to the ancient leader, who sat as still as a statue. Understanding immediately Munkustrap's request, he closed his eyes. The whole junkyard was contained in dead silence. At last, Old Deuteronomy opened his eyes again, and his voice decisively rang out: "Mistoffelees."

The small black cat was confused. Had his name just been changed?

"Very well then," Munkustrap concurred. "From this point forward, this cat's name is Mistoffelees; he was never anything different, nor will he ever be." He, once again, turned to the kitten. "Mistoffelees, welcome to the Jellicle tribe."

And Mistoffelees couldn't help but smile in spite of himself.

* * * * *

After the new cat had been accepted into the tribe by Munkustrap and Old Deuteronomy, right away he had been swarmed by throngs of cats, welcoming him, congratulating him, and asking him questions. The kittens and adolescents, however, hung back slightly in a group, looking on.

The oldest kitten, a pure white queen who was about Mistoffelees's age, let out a sigh. "I don't know about this one," she admitted thoughtfully. "He seems rather strange."

The kitten next to her, a tiny calico with enormous eyes, by far the youngest, giggled. "Well, I think he's kind of cute."

The white kitten shrugged. "Whatever."

One of the adolescents – the same one, in fact, who had first spotted Mistoffelees, looked down at the tiny calico in surprise, almost looking woeful. "You think he's . . . cute?" he said quietly.

* * * * *

Over the weeks, the Jellicles gradually warmed up to Mistoffelees. Most of them had accepted him, no questions asked, right away, but the ones who hadn't were beginning to treat him as an equal, too. Although they hadn't started out too well, Mistoffelees was becoming great friends with the Rum Tum Tugger, and already he felt as if Munkustrap was his real, biological father. And, secretly, he was beginning to rather admire Victoria, the pretty white queen. Coricopat and Tantomile, the mystical twins, were great mentors to him, and Mistoffelees was already feeling much more secure about his powers than when he had first come, even though he still didn't have complete mastery of them. He still felt, however, that Alonzo didn't quite trust him, as he was always giving him suspicious looks, and he didn't like the way Plato looked at him when Victoria was around. But other than that, Mistoffelees thought he had a pretty good life.

One day, Mistoffelees was training just outside the junkyard with his mentors. It was a very nice day, but there was something strange in the air that, try as he might, the black cat couldn't put a name to.

"Do you see that tree?" asked Coricopat.

Mistoffelees looked where he was pointing. "Yes." He nodded.

"Make it shrink," Tantomile commanded.

Raking his mind for the magic words they had taught him, Mistoffelees stood thinking hard for a moment. Finally, he looked up at the tree. "Relashio?" he guessed.

Creaking, the tree toppled over and landed with a thud that shook the ground.

The twins both sighed. "_Relashio _is for 'release' – in this case, releasing the tree from the ground," Tantomile explained. "The word for 'shrink' is . . .?"

"Oh! Incendio!" Mistoffelees corrected.

The tree burst into flames.

"Oops," he mumbled.

"Kedavra!" shouted Coricopat, and the fire stopped. He turned to Mistoffelees. "_Incendio _is fire. You don't remember 'shrink', do you?"

He shook his head, ashamed.

"Reducio," the twins told him.

"Oh. S-sorry. Reducio!"

The fallen tree contracted until it was half its original size.

"Good!" said Coricopat.

"Now bring it back to normal size," Tantomile ordered.

"En– uh . . ." Mistoffelees hesitated. He knew the word – it was on the tip of his tongue – but somehow he couldn't force it out. Suddenly, though, he remembered. "Engorgio!"

As the tree began to swell, Coricopat congratulated him, "That's very good! You're getting it! Now I want you to –"

He was cut off by a sudden growl of thunder. All three cats looked up to see the once-flawless sky clouding over rapidly.

"Did you do that?" asked Tantomile.

Mistoffelees shook his head. "No, that wasn't me . . . at least, I don't think it was . . ."

"You three!" came Munkustrap's voice. "Get back in the junkyard!"

Upon their entrance, Mistoffelees noticed his mother standing erect in the center of everything, a panicked look on her face. She sniffed the air for a moment, and then screamed, "MACAVITY!"

As if on cue, a laugh sounded. Mistoffelees immediately recognized it as the infamous cackle of his father. Another clap of thunder seemed to echo it.

Munkustrap began giving orders rapidly. "Skimbleshanks! Asparagus! Get the queens and kittens to safety! Take them where you know Macavity can't get at them! Tugger, Bombalurina, Rumpleteazer, Admetus, and Coricopat, go with them! Alonzo, Mungojerrie, and Plato, you stay here until he goes away! And someone get Mistoffelees out of here!"

The queens and kittens were hurriedly being escorted out of sight as a big ginger tom appeared seemingly from nowhere on top of a car trunk. Munkustrap was already tackling him. The silver tabby leapt on Macavity's shoulders, knocking him over. Jerking back with his elbows, Macavity caused him to temporarily let go. Seeing this, Mungojerrie and Plato automatically posed a double attack from both sides, violently clawing at him. Alonzo, obviously trying to show off in front of the older toms, bunched his muscles and flung himself at Macavity, loudly swearing at him.

Suddenly, Jennyanydots appeared at the edge of the junkyard. "Alonzo!" she scolded. "Watch your mouth!" And she disappeared again.

Looking disappointed, Alonzo continued molesting Macavity with his jaws clamped shut, but once Jennyanydots was out of earshot, Mistoffelees still caught little bits of curses coming from him.

From the same direction Jennyanydots had vanished, Skimbleshanks came running out, heading towards Mistoffelees. "Come with me, wee bairn. I'll bring you to safety," he said in his Scottish accent, rolling the R slightly on the word _bring_.

As he was led away, Mistoffelees watched the battle intently. With a violent, powerful shudder, Macavity shook of all three of his attackers, managing to knock a recovering Munkustrap off balance as well.

"GIVE ME QUAXO!" he roared.

Mistoffelees froze in his tracks. Alonzo and Plato both whipped around and glared at him. Skimbleshanks positioned himself in front of the black cat, bristling and growling at Macavity.

"Never!" shouted a voice. Munkustrap, suddenly having regained his balance, was standing defiantly behind him. When Macavity spun to face him, the silver tabby's hackles raised and a completely uncharacteristic flare of pure hatred burned in his eyes. "_Mistoffelees _is loyal to us now," he snarled.

Macavity ignored him and turned his piercing eyes directly on Mistoffelees. He chuckled. "I see you there, Quaxo. I see you trembling behind that Irish cat."

Skimbleshanks let out a menacing hiss, looking insulted. "Stupid blighter! I'm Scottish!"

Macavity rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just hand him over!"

Sweat was pouring down Mistoffelees's face. Obviously, Macavity wanted him back. But he wouldn't stand for it! Suddenly, as he met his father's gaze, sharp claws tore at him inwardly. In that moment, he realized how much he truly hated his father. Not just the kind of hate a kitten expresses when he's not allowed to do something he wants, but Mistoffelees felt a strong sense of pure, solid loathe for him.

Another half-command rang out: "Surrender the kitten –" here he grabbed Munkustrap by his upper arm in a throttlehold and pointed a claw at his throat – "or _he_ will never see the light of another day."

With a gasp, Mistoffelees knew he had to think of a plan quickly. Slowly and hesitantly, Skimbleshanks turned around . . .

And no one was there.

Infuriated, Macavity dropped Munkustrap and pushed him to the ground. "Where is he?" he demanded. Suddenly, he felt something jab into his back, as if he was being punched. Pivoting on his heels, he saw that, again, nothing was there.

Currently invisible, Mistoffelees knew he was only antagonizing Macavity. But it was fun! His father had no idea that he was staring straight at him. Barely able to hold back a snicker, he realized that he had a clear shot at his face. He drew his paw back, then brought it forward forcibly, feeling the waves of shock radiating off Macavity as he struck him. As he stumbled backwards, Mistoffelees felt as though he might explode. Finally succumbing, he belted out an enormous guffaw, falling over on his back and reappearing in the process, shaking with laughter. Alonzo began giggling, too, but a look from Mungojerrie and Plato silenced him.

"Quaxo!" hollered Macavity, snapping him out of his laughing fit. Suddenly, his expression lightened as he let out another chortle. "Ah, I always knew you were a sly one, Quaxo. I'm proud of you."

Finally, Mistoffelees couldn't take it any more. "My name's not Quaxo!" he erupted. "That was _your_ name for me. As far as everyone of _importance_ to me is concerned, I have always been Mistoffelees!"

"Well, whoever you are, you're coming with me." Macavity reached out towards him, but Mistoffelees conjured up a forcefield, blocking him.

"Oh, no, I'm not!"

Macavity's ear twitched. He picked up Munkustrap again. "It's either you or him."

Mistoffelees couldn't bear to see his foster father murdered. Reluctantly, he released the forcefield and offered himself to Macavity.

With a satisfied grin, the latter grabbed his son's wrist and began to lead him away.

"GET YOUR PAWS OFF HIM!" yowled a new voice. To everyone's surprise, it was Demeter. She stood in the center of the junkyard, blue eyes ablaze.

"Now _there's _a face I wasn't expecting to see again. How've you been, Dem?"

Instead of answering, Demeter hissed, "I _said_, get your paws off him."

"Or else what?" Macavity taunted.

With a blood-chilling war cry, Demeter launched herself at Macavity, clawing tufts of fur out wherever she could reach. Mistoffelees moved in and started contributing to her attack, nipping and swiping at him.

Just then, however, Macavity, without warning, swept out a paw, knocking Mistoffelees aside. He lay, limp, unmoving, and not breathing, on the ground a little ways away.

* * * * *

For a moment, all Demeter could do was stare, her mouth hanging open, at her son. _No, no_, she wailed inwardly. _Mistoffelees can't be dead! He can't! He just can't!_ But her eyes didn't deceive her. It didn't look like the young black cat would be getting up anytime soon. Finally, she found her voice. Pivoting to face Macavity, murder blazing in her eyes, her rage boiled over. Before she could stop herself, all of her built up fury at the cat whom she had once loved came spilling out.

"Dirty, heartless fiend! That's what you are, a traitor! How could you be so callous, after everything we – I mean, _you_ – have gone through? You're a cold-blooded murderer! You're . . . you . . . you . . ."

* * * * *

Lying on the ground a few feet away, Mistoffelees opened his eyes a tiny crack. Seeing that neither his mother nor Macavity was looking at him, he opened them the rest of the way and let out the breath he was holding. Silently, he got up, standing on all four paws. He had formulated his plan a mere fraction of a moment before he had to execute it. And judging from some of the words flying out of Demeter's mouth, Mistoffelees realized that he must have fooled both of them very effectively. He very quietly chuckled to himself, but then shook his head: he still had to finish his plan. Still on all fours, he crept stealthily towards them. Catching a sideways glance from Alonzo, Mungojerrie, and Plato, and a very relieved glance from Munkustrap, he put his paw to his lips, gesturing for silence. Then, he sat back on his hind paws, watching his scuffling parents, waiting for his chance. Almost immediately, they broke apart for just a moment, yet it was long enough for him to act. He fired of a lightning bolt, purposely just barely missing his father. He rose into a standing position as both cats whirled around to face him, making his pelt glow for dramatic emphasis.

Both cats had completely opposite expressions on their faces: Demeter looked very reassured and happy, eyes brimming with motherly love, but Macavity looked furious. "You little cheat!" he snarled.

Mistoffelees remained cool. "Cheat? _Me?_ You're the one who went psycho on the tribe all those years ago! You kidnapped Demeter and mated with her so you could have me, and _then_, when that didn't work, you gave up on all the trouble and tried to kill me twice, and _now_ you're trying to kill _her_? If you ask me, _you're _the cheat here!"

Holding his gaze, Macavity turned and advanced towards Mistoffelees. "So now I'm a cheat. I see how it is."

"Yes! You are!" Mistoffelees confirmed.

"Well, I may have tried to kill you," he admitted, "but now I realize I need your powers. I must harness their energy and use it to my advantage. So, I will take you back to my lair, channel your energy and powers, and utilize them at my liking. And _then _I'll kill you. If you cooperate, I'll do it rather painlessly." By now he was standing directly in front of him.

"No," Mistoffelees insisted. "I'll never let you have my powers just so you can use them for evil." He paused, then made a remarkable request. "Kill me now."

A resounding gasp was audible from all of the toms and Demeter, and Skimbleshanks, who was still watching everything. Mistoffelees thought he heard Demeter whisper, "No . . ."

Macavity looked at his claws, then down at his son. "You're a brave young cat, Quaxo. I almost hate to see you go this way, but oh, Everlasting Cat, it'll be worth it." He chuckled. "Actually, I'm starting to think this will be fun." Finally, he extended a paw and flexed his claws, ready to slice Mistoffelees's throat and tear the life out of him. For the first time, sweat started to roll down the kitten's face. He gulped, but now he knew there was no going back. If he was doomed to live in mortal danger of Macavity, then he didn't want to continue living at all. Slowly, Macavity's unsheathed claws came closer . . . closer . . . closer . . .

"NOOOO!" an ear-shattering screech split the air. Demeter hurtled across the junkyard just before his claws met in Mistoffelees's neck. She faced him, bristling and glaring. "Kill Mistoffelees and you'll have to kill me," she challenged.

Macavity looked at her in wary surprise, while her son just looked thankful. He grinned at her, and she returned the gesture before turning back to her former mate.

"Well," the latter said decisively, "I guess that can –"

"Kill Demeter and you'll have to kill me," growled Munkustrap, who seemed to have materialized at Mistoffelees's side.

Macavity jerked his head around to look at the tabby. The paw pointed at Mistoffelees's throat lowered slightly.

Mungojerrie came running over. "Keel Munkustrap an' ye'll 'ave t'keel me," he shouted.

"Mungojerrie . . ." Macavity murmured.

"Kill Mungojerrie and you'll have to kill me!" All the heads turned to see Rumpleteazer, who came running over to his side faithfully. From where she had appeared, the entire tribe was standing clustered around Skimbleshanks, who must have sent for them.

"Kill Rumpleteazer and you'll have to kill me!" That was Victoria.

Then, Jemima: "Kill Victoria and you'll have to kill me!"

"Kill Jemima and you'll have to kill me!" claimed Alonzo and Skimbleshanks at the same time.

"Kill Skimbleshanks and you'll have to kill me!" That was uncharacteristic for Jennyanydots, but after all, the orange tabby was her mate.

One by one, the entire Jellicle tribe joined in the rebellious cluster of cats, sticking up for their friends and the ones they loved. And all because of Mistoffelees.

By the time the last cat, who happened to be Tumblebrutus, jumped in, Macavity was looking thoroughly overwhelmed. The sun broke free of the restraining clouds, shedding light on the spirits of each and every Jellicle. He looked down at Mistoffelees. "Well, Quaxo," he said reluctantly, "it seems that these miserable cats have all pulled together to defend you. I'll leave . . . for now." He turned around and began stalking away. By the time he had reached the end of the junkyard, the scowl had returned to his eyes. He turned back to them, looking his son directly in the eye. "But don't think you've won. This isn't over. Watch your back from now on. Keep looking behind you. Someday, I'll be back, and then I'll have my revenge. I suggest you enjoy your victory now . . . because it sure as Heaviside won't last." And that was the last they saw of him.

The whole group stood in silence for a moment, but then Demeter bent down and wrapped her arms around Mistoffelees. "My sweet kitten," she whispered emotionally. "I thought I was going to lose you." She sniffled, and a joyous tear trickled down her cheek.

"But . . . but what about Macavity?" Mistoffelees pointed out.

Demeter's arms unwound and she crouched down until they were at the same eye level. She placed her paws on his shoulders and started speaking very seriously. "Mistoffelees, trust me. I loved Macavity for a very long time when I was younger. I know him better than you may think. He always uses threats like that to intimidate other cats and scare them into believing him. But do you think he means it? Very rarely. I'm almost certain that we'll be safe for a very long time." She paused a moment, and they both stared into each other's eyes. Drawing him in close to her, Demeter whispered, "And even if he does come back, just remember that I'll always be here for you. Remember, I'm your mother and I always will be. I love you more than anyone else, and I promise I'll never let anything happen to you."

And in that moment, for the very first time since he was a tiny kitten barely able to walk, Mistoffelees knew exactly where it was that he belonged: it was right here, alongside all his new friends, adopted father, and, most importantly, his mother. There would always be someone here to turn to when he was in need, and he knew that love and compassion surrounded him at every turn. For the very first time, Mistoffelees thought to himself, _I'm finally home._


End file.
